Father Brown and the Blue Cross
by demonkatgurl17
Summary: A relic in Father Brown's church is threatened and, in the course of saving it, more than one mystery is unraveled. [Part 1 of The Father Brown ABO Mysteries]


Originally, I had planned to write this whole arc and post it in one go, but then I decided to just post what I have and then do the rest of what I have "planned" in sequel installments. I "plan" to do one story per episode with Flambeau, which currently stands as 6 stories, with 5 more to go, doing an ABO version of things between them, but spicier of course (I also need to watch up to that point, but that's another matter).

But anyway, I decided to post this so that I won't like, FORGET, that it even exists bc I get fandom brain where, once my attention is captured, I ignore virtually all of my other fandoms, with regards to reading and writing. So maybe that will light a fire under me, idk.

* * *

Boxed into the train compartment with three strangers normally wasn't a problem for Father Brown, he was long accustomed to the inevitable mingling of scents of secondary sexes and body odors, alike.

Yet he still felt… _wary_.

He wrote off his unease as stress from his _unsolicited_ chaperoning of the crucifix. It wasn't like he'd never bent rules before to thwart a criminal, but this time was different. This time, he'd been warned off by the police _and_ Bishop Talbot both to not answer the challenge issued by Flambeau.

After all, what could an _omega_ do to catch an alpha that had eluded law enforcement with such ease?

Not that they _knew_ he was an omega, of course. And they never would if he had anything to say about it. It was a secret Father Brown had kept to himself (and _only_ himself, despite the ever present threat of Mrs. McCarthy's well-meaning inquisitiveness).

Before Father Brown had even left for the war, he had been well-used to hiding his secondary sex, using pills and scent sachets and mock beta mannerisms to mask the fact that he was an omega. It was his father's attempt to let his son have a say in his life, to not be bound by rigid English customs that, more often than not, had an omega married off and bred within a few years of presenting. His father had urged him to hide what he was-not out of shame like many male alphas did when their only male heir presents as omega, but from love.

At first, hiding his secondary sex had been inconvenient and galling, but he soon saw the artifice for what it was: an _opportunity_.

As a beta, there were hardly any restrictions in where he could go and what he could do.

So he did what would have been unheard of for a young omega male: he joined up with the Gloucestershire regiment and went off into the war-initially as a soldier, though he found himself rising to a higher calling as a military chaplain. His experiences in the war led him down the long, bumpy road to priesthood, whereupon the church consigned the Kembleford flock to him. A good many of his parishioners would be quite scandalized to know the truth about their beloved 'beta' priest. The church itself would be more than scandalized; Father Brown would be lucky if he wasn't drawn and quartered for the deception.

They would do that anyway if he lost the Blue Cross to Flambeau…

Not that _that_ would happen, not when he'd gone to such trouble to evade church and state alike to safeguard the relic's passage to Newbury Prior.

That must be why he was so anxious, he decided, and tried to let the gentle rocking of the train ease his nerves. The package was safe beside him, after all, even if he was surrounded by beta males, two of which looked fairly harmless. There was a very faint tang of _alpha_ in the compartment, but alpha hormones were the most strongest and most pervasive of the secondary genders, lingering where an alpha had been sometimes _hours_ after they had come and gone.

There was no telling many alphas had sat in this very compartment today alone.

Father Brown wasn't prejudiced against alphas. He accepted them willingly and happily in his flock and in his presence. A little thing like _alpha intimidation_ didn't bother him; his constitution was too strong for _that_ , especially after the war.

No, Father Brown found the scent of alpha particularly worrying at the moment because the signature handkerchief left by Flambeau had _reeked_ of alpha, a more overt threat than the subtle one the handkerchief represented.

An _alpha_ was taunting him, threatening not only Father Brown's parish relic but Father Brown _himself_.

It was strange. After coming toe to toe with so many alphas (literally and figuratively), Father Brown had developed a resistance to alpha displays of violence and aggression, but _this_? This was a display that somehow outshined every alpha display he had experienced because _this_ was on a completely different level. This wasn't just a threat, this was _peacocking_. It took a profound amount of confidence to not feel the need to even _be there_ to evoke the desired effect of fear, helplessness, and paranoia.

And all he had to do was leave a bloody handkerchief.

Which was currently tucked away in Father Brown's cassock.

Perhaps he was winding himself up as much as the thief was.

Or that was what Father Brown _tried_ to tell himself, only his intuition that something was _wrong_ just _wouldn't go away_. The feeling only got stronger as Dawson made a half-hearted attempt to take his parcel, getting stronger still as the chaplain offered to escort Father Brown on foot away from the police-and anyone else. Their theology debate did most of the work to convince Father Brown of the true identity of the 'priest', but what really confirmed his suspicions was his heightened sense of smell (an omega trait that had helped solve a number of mysteries). Time and physical exertion took their toll on scent blockers and masking colognes, and admittedly, Father Brown had never before considered the possibility of an _alpha_ posing as a _beta_.

It was beyond what any alpha would have done. It was cunning and brilliant and Father Brown would probably appreciate the masterful subterfuge a lot more if he wasn't tied to a tree, the thief having relieved him of the Blue Cross soon after dropping his act and pulling out a gun.

* * *

Being of a rather stubborn constitution, Father Brown refused to let Flambeau have the last word.

Bleeding from a head wound with a gun pointed at his face (whilst in the sight of several more aimed at his back), it belatedly occurred to Father Brown that pursuing a violent criminal to the shipyard, not only to recover the Blue Cross but to prove something to himself, might just get him killed.

Not that it would have been enough to dismiss his nagging intuition.

Flambeau had come back to the church after taking his prize off Father Brown. There had been no need to return and flaunt his success. Father Brown might have written off the meeting in the confessional had Flambeau _actually_ boasted about his theft, but no, there had been no trace of the alpha peacocking displayed by the monogrammed handkerchief, only a thief's attempt at honesty and a request for absolution.

It had puzzled Father Brown and now, standing between Flambeau and Kembleford's police force, both poised to kill, he felt like he was only just starting to unravel the mystery of the man before him who, like Father Brown himself, wasn't what he appeared to be and defied social norms in support of his own principles.

Perhaps it was that he perceived Flambeau a kindred spirit and therefore sought to _protect_ him, to shield him from harm regardless of the threats and humiliation (and now injury) Father Brown had suffered at this man's hand. Perhaps it was his morality, of the church liturgy rising up within him and urging him to _forgive_ those who trespass against you and to do no harm.

Regardless, within a moment of silence between them, the alpha's nostrils flared, his eyes widening in shock and wonder at Father Brown.

Flambeau _knew_.

And standing there, with his hands held over his head, Father Brown considered stepping aside and letting the police finish this, saving himself and his secret.

But he didn't move, he merely stared back at Flambeau, helpless in the knowledge that this thief held his whole life in his hands, could wreak such _havoc_ on it with a single declaration.

Only…it never came.

Flambeau tossed the Blue Cross into the air and dove into the murky waters of the canal, taking Father Brown's secret with him.

* * *

When the telegram came, Father Brown felt only a _twinge_ of guilt for not sharing his suspicions with the police that Flambeau was alive and well.

It was a fair price for the thief's silence, in Father Brown's opinion.


End file.
